Isaac's breathing hard, and he licks his lips, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I've seen enough of the future. I don't need to watch it happen," he says, coughing a little, feeling like he can't breathe. It's all threatening to drown him and he struggles, struggles, struggles, as if his efforts might purify him, even though he knows it won't. It can't. There's no absolution, none.

"I've wasted my life, destroyed everything good that ever came to me. At least I did one good thing before I died." He doesn't know if it's enough. Maybe it never could be. But he tried, doesn't that count, doesn't it?